My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 106

Chapter 106: The Executioner’s Tax And The Spoils Of War

Friday, 12:20 AM. The Minotaur Club, VIP Labyrinth.

The muzzle flash of Harrison Croft’s suppressed pistol illuminated the dim, circular room like a strobe light.

To the three billionaires sitting at the table, the gunshot was a sudden, deafening crack that signaled the end of the negotiation. But to me, operating under the System’s [Auto-Defense Protocol], the world had ground to an agonizing, gelatinous halt.

[System Override]

[Hyper-Reflex State: Active]

[Duration: 3.0 Seconds]

I watched the slide of the pistol cycle backward, ejecting a smoking brass casing into the air. I saw the distortion in the air as the 9mm hollow-point bullet tore across the space between us, aimed directly at the center of my forehead.

I didn’t try to dodge. At this range, even with System-enhanced reflexes, moving my entire center of mass was mathematically impossible.

Instead, I moved my hand.

My right arm blurred, moving with a speed that tore a muscle in my shoulder. I didn’t try to catch the bullet—that was comic book fantasy. I simply swept my hand upward, the heavy crystal scotch glass still gripped in my fingers, and intercepted the bullet’s trajectory.

The bullet smashed into the thick crystal base of the glass. The kinetic energy shattered the glass instantly, exploding into a cloud of razor-sharp shrapnel and amber liquid. The impact deflected the bullet just enough. It grazed my left cheek, opening a shallow, burning gash, and buried itself in the velvet-lined wall behind me.

Time snapped back to normal.

Croft’s eyes widened in absolute disbelief. He had fired at point-blank range, and I was still standing. He began to squeeze the trigger for a second shot.

He never got the chance.

I lunged across the green felt of the poker table, scattering the fifty million dollars in chips. I grabbed the barrel of the pistol with my left hand, twisting it violently upward, breaking Croft’s trigger finger in the trigger guard.

Croft screamed, a raw, guttural sound of agony, but his combat training kicked in. He threw a left hook aimed at my throat.

I ducked the strike, stepped inside his guard, and drove my right knee directly into the side of his already injured leg. The joint snapped with a sickening crunch.

Croft collapsed to the marble floor, the pistol falling from his mangled hand. He writhed in pain, gasping for air, his lethal edge completely shattered.

I picked up the suppressed pistol from the floor. I wiped the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand, my breathing heavy, the adrenaline slowly receding as the [Auto-Defense Protocol] disengaged.

I looked at the three people at the table. Richard Sterling was cowering in his chair, his hands over his head. CassandraLocke looked like she was going to vomit. General Austin Vance was staring at me, his face a mask of absolute, terrified awe. He had just watched a man deflect a bullet with a scotch glass and dismantle a Tier-One operative in less than two seconds.

"I told you to put your dog on a leash, Austin," I said, my voice cold and steady, echoing in the silent room.

I walked over to the General and placed the suppressed pistol on the green felt directly in front of him.

"Clean up your mess," I ordered.

Vance looked at the gun, then down at Croft, who was groaning on the floor, clutching his shattered knee.

"Jake," Vance said, his voice thick with hesitation. "He’s a decorated veteran. He’s been loyal to the Cabal for a decade. We can just... we can exile him."

"He just tried to put a bullet in the head of your new Chairman," I said, the [Emperor’s Presence] bearing down on the General, crushing the last remnants of his pride. "If you let him live, he will come back. He will hunt me, and he will hunt you. You know how this game is played, General. There are no half-measures."

I leaned over the table, locking eyes with the massive military man.

"Pick up the gun, Austin," I whispered. "Prove your loyalty to the new regime. Or I make the phone call, and Apex Munitions burns to the ground."

Vance stared at me. He saw the absolute, unyielding void in my eyes. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. I was forcing him to cross the Rubicon. I was forcing him to bind himself to me with blood.

Slowly, his hand trembling slightly, General Vance reached out and picked up the pistol.

He stood up from the table. He walked around to where Harrison Croft lay on the floor.

"General," Croft gasped, looking up at his former commander, his eyes wide with betrayal. "Don’t do this. He’s a kid. We can still—"

"I’m sorry, Harrison," Vance said, his voice hollow. "You became a liability."

Vance raised the pistol, aimed it at the center of Croft’s chest, and pulled the trigger twice.

Pfft. Pfft.

Croft’s body jerked, and then he lay still. The fixer was dead.

The silence that followed was absolute. The smell of cordite and copper filled the air, mixing with the scent of expensive cigars.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify